


A Certain Flavor

by nicholas_de_vilance



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dialogue, Drug Use, M/M, Sex Talk, mentioned kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 11:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11081040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicholas_de_vilance/pseuds/nicholas_de_vilance
Summary: Jesse has a question he doesn't technically ask out loud.  Cassidy is inclined to answer him regardless.





	A Certain Flavor

**Author's Note:**

> I have more parts in the works for this story, all of them unrepentant porn. I might post them. We'll see. Will update tags and rating accordingly.
> 
> Enjoy!

"Yeh act like you've never 'ad rough sex before," Cass teased. He'd propped himself haphazardly against the arm of a pew with his feet stacked and thrown over the back.

 

Jesse felt pink heat prickle at the tips of his ears. "Yeah, I mean... _ Tulip _ ," he muttered, as if that made him king of the crossroads where Sex met Violence.

 

Maybe it did, though Cassidy had tasted that, and she honestly hadn't been his most passionate of lovers. Perhaps just a testament to how utterly whipped he was for another man's soulmate. "Alright, sure," Cass conceded, "I wasn't gonna drag yer skewed lovelife into this, but as an example, you mean you've never jus' smacked her arse in the middle o' things?"

 

"That's a really personal question, Cass."

 

"No it isn't. You just asked  _ me _ about Bunny Man and his wife."

 

"I asked your opinion."

 

"No, yeh asked me how a person could get off on that sort o' thing, an' I'm tryin' to explain it to yeh."

 

This conversation had started out fairly innocently, at least on Jesse's part. Sometimes just getting drunk and ruminating out loud helped, trying to justify behavior he didn't understand. He didn't consider himself the sort of close minded Texan to judge something just because he didn't get it. He'd been around, he'd seen some shit. There was more in this world than a single person could possibly comprehend, but this at least Jesse would try. He didn't bank on Cassidy's added wisdom - the self-professed vampire seemed to be a mild expert on BDSM. Or at least, that's what he implied.

 

This was their typical night, booze and smokes and the philosophy of various subjects that interested them. Cassidy would say something deep or particularly "unChristian" and Jesse would respond with a passionate argument for the good of the world. They'd only had nights like this a few times, but it was always natural, the easiest thing to fall into after a hard day's work. Cassidy made sure of it at least, even though his hard day was spent occasionally raging at the air conditioning unit and keeping himself as high as possible on various substances. Jesse found his friend's lack of responsibility and total disregard for anyone's opinion both mildly annoying and strangely alluring. Cassidy said that boring was the worst thing a man could be. Now, Jesse had been interesting. His experiences made him wonder what sort of interesting things Cass had done in his life that he adopted his world view. Especially in regards to their current subject matter.

 

"Yer makin' a silly face," he muttered.

 

"Shut up about my face," Jesse snapped, kicking his foot out to jab Cassidy in the hip.

 

There was very little force behind the blow, however Cassidy was a precious sort of wasted. He jerked in response and went tumbling onto the floor between pews. He let out an aborted, snorted giggle. "That was highly uncalled for," he laughed.

 

"What makes you so qualified to explain it to me, anyway?" Jesse asked.

 

Cassidy surrendered to his new position, flat on the floor with his arms splayed out over the floorboards. He had a stupid grin on his face, pleased as punch to lounge amidst the dirt and dust and faint stench of sweat on the church floor.

 

"What?" Cass asked, squinting up in the dim light.

 

"The whole Schenck thing," Jesse clarified.

 

"Oh right. Bunny Man beats his wife," Cassidy mused, "wife gets off on it. What was your question again?"

 

"That just makes sense to you?"

 

Groaning, Cassidy stretched his arms above his head, flexing like a cat from his nap. His shirt rode up over his navel. "It makes perfect sense, mate."

 

"How?"

 

Eyebrow raised, Cassidy peered up this time to meet Jesse's gaze. He suddenly looked a lot less drunk. "Because I'd get off on it too," he offered with a shrug.

 

"Hitting a woman?"

 

"Not necessarily," Cass went on, simple and without embellishment, "I prefer ta get hit, but I did spend a weekend with a trapese artist back in the sixties. He'd had a thing fer bein' strangled."

 

"Uh...what?"

 

Jesse was staring, but he was very pointedly not drooling. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the contact high from whatever Cassidy had packed in his pipe this time, but Jesse's brain compiled an image and now it wouldn't go away. Across his mind's eye, Cassidy splayed out in the same position he held now, but on a bed. Jesse's bed. Arms lashed out to the sides, bound by lengths of rope to the bed frame. Bare chest, mussed hair, someone's hand - probably the preacher's - wrapped around his throat. He could too easily imagine the way Cass' face would contort, eyes widen, lips part on a soundless plea. Jesse hid his blush and reached down to snatch up Cassidy's bottle. He wasn't drunk enough for homoerotic fantasies.

 

"What what?" Cassidy shot back, dribbling off into a breathless giggle.

 

"You get off on being choked?"

 

This time, howling laughter. Cassidy clutched at his side and coughed as he tried to cope with whatever he found so damn funny. "S'like teachin' maths t' t'ree-year-olds," he gasped. When his giggling finally subsided enough to lay back flat, Cassidy got a good look at Jesse's face. The color of his grin changed, like muddy brown being washed away from bloody red. "Or maybe more like sex-ed t'high schoolers," he amended softly.

 

"Shuddup," Jesse drawled, though he lost it on a yawn.

 

"I don't like to be choked," Cassidy clarified, "me mate did."

 

"Oh..."

 

"I like t'be slapped."

 

Bastard did that on purpose, Jesse was marginally convinced that he was being played. However, he always got that vibe from Cassidy. The man was a natural conartist. He manipulated people on instinct, like he'd had a lifetime of practice. Cassidy was an eager companion and stalwart friend, outwardly. Jesse knew that it had at least started out as an act to worm his way into the attic and the apparent resources of the Church. The longer the Irishman resided in that lofty domicile, however, the more genuine he became. The weird stories about government clones and vague, spiritual warnings were genuine concern, if a little hazed and confused. Now that Cassidy had gotten comfortable, it made Jesse wonder what he wanted this time. He wouldn't comment on it, though. Cass was a silvertongued conman, but Preacher liked the praise.

 

Cassidy, of course, rambled on oblivious to Jesse's inner turmoil. "-but that foot fetish thing, tha's beside the point. So honestly, I mean at least if they're doin' it right, whass'ername- Betty, she probably calls the shots," he imparted to the leg of the pew by his head. "Gotta respect a bird knows what she wants an' 'as the balls to ask her husband fer it."

 

"It takes balls to get beat up every night..."

 

"Yer thick...it's not- Jaysus, I- what yeh don't get, Jesse," he stammered, before landing on what he deemed was the best explanation, "what yeh don't get is that the beatin' isn't the scary part. If she's wired like me, the pain jus' lights her candle. She's asked him fer it, literally. They've talked about it, imagine tha'. It's not jus' a spur o' the moment t'ing, they plan it."

 

"Okay, so it's mutual, I can get that," Jesse defended.

 

"No," Cassidy growled. He pushed himself up at last, sitting with one arm propped on the seat of his pew. "You're missin' an important point."

 

"What am I missing?" It's said with a hint of boredom. Either this is a lot more complicated than he thought, or he was just doomed to not fucking get it - or Cassidy was just messing him around over it for kicks.

 

"You ever been ashamed o' somethin'?" Cassidy asked, suddenly meeting Jesse's eyes and not looking away.

 

There was a challenge there, one Jesse couldn't resist. Cass' pupils were blown wide, stoned, drunk, actually nocturnal, take your pick. Jesse gazed back and tried to decipher the intensity building between them. Could be that Cassidy just felt strongly about this topic. The urge to make Jesse understand something important to him.

 

"No," Jesse lied.

 

"Fuckin' gobshite."

 

"What point am I missing?"

 

"How fuckin' good it feels to 'ave someone you can trust t'know when ta stop. Even when yeh can't tell 'im to."

 

For some reason, Jesse thought of Tulip. She knew when to stop: right when she'd gotten what she wanted.  _ You ever been ashamed of something? _ It rang through his ears, though he still didn't quite get what it had to do with sex. Cassidy was the single most shameless person Jesse had ever met. He had a hard time believing that the little Irish punk had ever been ashamed of anything, particularly when it came to sex. In that and quite a few other ways Cassidy reminded him of Tulip. For once, the attraction he'd been denying since day one - on the grounds of sin and common sense both - made a little more sense.

 

"But y-" Jesse yawned again, wide and loud, had to cover his mouth and turn away to maintain some semblance of ettiquette.

 

By the time he turned back, Cass was already on his feet. He didn't look nearly as fucked up as he should have been, which wasn't entirely fair. Jesse's head was already pounding in warning of the massive hangover that awaited him in the morning.

 

"Okay, Padre," Cass said fondly. He took Jesse's arms and hauled him up from the pew. "Much as I like turnin' yer ears red, I think it's time fer bed, yeah?"

 

Jesse swayed on his feet, more drunk than he thought or intended. He tried to sit back down, but Cass just slung his arm over his shoulders. Thing was, Jesse had already decided that walking was too much trouble and he'd be sleeping in the Church tonight, thank you very much. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose against the head rush and pushed the other man away so he could get off his feet. Cassidy snickered lightly and pulled Jesse back up. He slung an arm over his shoulder and scooped up Jesse's legs behind the knees. The preacher got an odd sense of déjà vu as Cassidy carted him into the house and up the stairs to bed. The world spinning around him and surprisingly strong, boney arms cradling him like a sleeping child. The night Cass found him in the Church, feverish and comatose; this  _ had _ happened before, probably just like this. Cassidy laying him out and undressing him, humming quietly as he set out Tylenol and bottle of water on the nightstand. Last time, Jesse was dead to the world - no conscious memory at all, just a vague impression that this sequence of events had occurred previously. Drunken stupor notwithstanding, he was pretty sure the kiss was a new development. At least, he hoped so. It was just a quick brush over Jesse's lips, but it had happened. Just before he finally lost consciousness, he watched Cass leave under heavy eyelids and desperately wanted to remember this come morning. Clear as a bell, with every fiber of his being, even laden with alcohol as it was:  _ please remember this in the morning. _

 


End file.
